Ice eggs, also known as ice balls, are a rare phenomenon caused by a process in which small pieces of sea ice in open water are rolled over by wind and currents in freezing conditions and grow into spheroid pieces of ice. They sometimes collect into heaps of balls on beaches where they pack together in striking patterns. The gentle churn of water, blown by a suitably stiff breeze, makes concentric layers of ice form on a seed particle that then grows into the floating ball as it rolls through the freezing currents. This formation of ice eggs was photographed in 2014 on Stroomi Beach in Tallinn, Estonia. The temperature was around −20 to −15 °C (−4 to 5 °F), and the diameter of each ball around 5 to 10 centimetres (2 to 4 in).Photograph credit: Aleksandr Abrosimov
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It is so terribly sad that I have to explain that the above is a JOKE
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
For unique design and interesting content, I present you with this Excellent User Page Award. –Frater5(talk/con) 16:12, 29 May 2006 (UTC)
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